Holt’s rumbly laughter was hot and hungry. “I can’t last long enough anyway,” he got out between kisses. “Good—so sweet and good.” He levered up, grabbed Wiley’s hips, and increased the speed and strength of their rutting.
The bed knocked the wall and squeaked the opposite direction as Wiley was forced up the mattress. He dug his heels in, braced a hand on the headboard, and flattened the other on Holt’s chest. He couldn’t get enough of how hot and hard and powerful Holt was, outmatched him, and moved. How safe it felt like this, how urgently it pitched his desire.
Holt took his hand and slid them down together to fist their cocks. Wiley muttered incoherencies and lost purchase on the bed as his toes curled painfully.
He came and came and unraveled in Holt’s arms. Holt slowed to watch him, tugging his cock and thumbing the tip until his nerves were on fire and he was utterly spent. Then Holt grunted and fell forward and staggered his hands so his bulk blotted out everything, so tenderly and right, and used Wiley’s willingness to lay there boneless and moaning, fucking the damp crease of Wiley’s thigh.
Holt stiffened and a guttural noise sounded from his throat. He dragged himself against Wiley with diminishing speed and then collapsed.
Wiley vibrated with pleasure from every point Holt gently kissed and touched as they rolled onto their sides. He caught Holt’s cheeks in his hands and smiled into Holt’s mouth as they kissed, and kept smiling as Holt settled onto his chest.
He drew lazy circles on Holt’s back, shut his eyes, and listened to Holt fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
HOLT lay, content as he’d ever been. Wiley was pillowed on his arm as he watched Wiley sleep in the early, densely colorful sunrise.
He marveled at how Wiley fit perfectly in the curve of his body. Loved the feel of Wiley under him, completely, as he’d held Wiley’s hips and demanded a second, then a third round that Wiley gave so generously. Needed the way he could protect and keep Wiley tucked beside him.
There was nothing to describe his wild desire and near-savage want and satisfaction of having Wiley as he did last night. He hadn’t ever been so insatiable and demanding, and then appeased, before. With anyone. Or then woken the morning after, replete and wanting more and more.
He combed Wiley’s hair this way and that and drew delicate shapes on Wiley’s sleep-warm skin. What if they could stay like this—together, unguarded, nothing fake—well past the episode ending?
The thought didn’t shock him. It had built under the surface the past several days. Years. But it was probably unwise.
Wiley snuffled and snuggled closer, and Holt allowed his heart to hope, just a little. They could talk about it, maybe. How amazing they were together, and that had to mean they should find out what staying together longer could bring. To see what Wiley would answer. He had to know.
He ignored the duty to check the time, his phone, in with the world.
This was the only world he wanted for a while. A long, long while.
Eventually he’d get up and make them coffee. Some semblance of breakfast. But he liked that Wiley slept and how relaxing this was, so he kept putting eventually off.
“Morning,” he whispered as Wiley finally stirred.
The sun was full up, its color leached to white, and Holt heard the indistinct rumble of traffic in the distance. It occurred to him that tomorrow they would wake—separately—and go get not-married.
“Good morning.” Wiley blinked and smiled sleepily, and then seemed to come online. He sat upright.
Holt battled back dread that Wiley would regret this or run from him.
Wiley leaned far down and disappeared past the edge of the mattress. “We’re almost late,” he said as he grappled up, holding his phone. “You take the guest shower. Carla can feed us.”
Wiley threw the covers away, paused, twisted around to give Holt a kiss, and then another. Then he sprang from bed before Holt could catch him for more.
He flopped down and covered his face with Wiley’s pillow. Relief made him giddy. Made him want to be late. They could be late—who cared. He could be late for once in his life.
Holt thought about everyone’s dedication and the grueling shooting schedule they still had to keep and Kit likely never letting him live it down, and gave in to reality.
The shower heated quickly, and he was clean in under ten minutes.
He emerged prepared to show up on set in yesterday’s clothes and smiled at the powder blue XXL CarlaCakes T-shirt and plaid dress shirt still in cellophane on the counter.
Wiley also left him a comb, toothbrush, and toothpaste. He gladly made use of them. The T-shirt fit fine, the dress shirt a bit snug, so he left it unbuttoned, but it worked.
“That’s a good look on you,” Wiley teased as Holt ventured to the living room. His hair was damp and his neck pink from the shower. “Don’t lift your arms over your head, though. Grandma got that shirt for me years ago, even knowing it was huge on me, because it was on very good sale, you see, but you’ll pop the seams.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Holt noticed the small pile of his things Wiley had collected on the side table. He jammed them into his pockets and gave Wiley a quick kiss. Wiley’s eager response emboldened him to say, “We should talk later. I mean, I want to discuss something important.”
“Interesting.” Wiley kissed Holt’s jaw. “But yes, of course. As soon as we’re not running late somewhere, we’ll talk.”
“Good.” Holt gathered Wiley to him and tightened his arms. He kissed Wiley again and then had to pull back and rest their foreheads together and pull in a deep breath. Anything more and they’d be really late. “Ready?”
Wiley sighed. “Another day, another layer.” But he smiled as he locked up and smiled deeper when Holt caught his hand and held it the short walk to the bakery.
Wiley let go the instant they entered the front door. Holt stared in disbelief at the tables pushed together in the center of the room and seated at them….
“Mom? Dad.” Holt turned. “Brent?”
“Wow,” Wiley said on a thready breath. “Your parents. Your other brother. This is…. Wow.”
This was not how Holt wanted the morning to go. The day. Anything.
Not at all, but especially not after last night and still being able to taste and smell and feel Wiley everywhere.
“Wiley?” he breathed, picking up on Wiley’s controlled panic and hard shift. “Please don’t.” He fumbled for Wiley’s hand, but Wiley sidestepped and met his mom halfway as she got up to greet them.
Holt’s pulse hammered a warning as Wiley seemed to gather himself, dismiss something, and then visibly move past from what they’d shared last night and woke to, newfound.
“Dad,” he managed and shook his father’s hand, then moved in for a brief hug. “Surprise.”
“We could both say that. Good to see you, Holt.”
Clint Leydon was tall and broad and silver where once he’d been light blond. Holt took after him in every way—the eldest of three boys—and most resembled his father, Holt’s grandfather. The constant comparisons growing up had always made Holt proud, not annoyed.
Margery Leydon pushed past her husband and enveloped Holt in a hug, an impressive feat for such a petite woman.
“Kit has explained the whole thing,” she said into his ear.
Holt momentarily froze. “The whole thing?”
She leaned back and cupped his cheek. “How you reconnected and how it got serious so fast and you with your privacy, and then the need for absolute secrecy.” She made a dignified huff. “Why that extended to your family—me—I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean I’m any less thrilled for you and Wiley.”
“Thank you, Mom.” As much as disappointment continued to throb in his belly and he was wary as to their being here, he couldn’t deny how good it was to see her. Everyone.
Margery was about to say more, but Brent cut in.
“You old dog, or should I say dark horse,” Brent sa
id and pulled Holt in for a hug. “She’s been practicing what to say to you guys the whole ride here.”
“I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Make it a case.” Brent laughed and moved back. “It’s fine. She’s just nervous.”
Kit most resembled their mother. Brent was the brother who looked part of the family when they were together but you wouldn’t pick out of a lineup as belonging.
“Where’s Lina?”
Brent had married his college girlfriend the year before Kit’s show launched. Sometimes he still brought it up to razz how Kit timed it on purpose.
“Work, but she’ll be here for the wedding tomorrow. You know she wouldn’t miss it.”
“Sorry to drag you from your work.”
“I think pediatric dentistry will survive the few days I’m not in the trenches.” Brent gave Holt another half hug. “It’s good to be here.”
Holt tried to catch Wiley’s eye so he could reintroduce them, but Wiley steadfastly held conversation with Holt’s parents.
“Hi, everyone. Good morning. Sorry to interrupt the reunion. I’m Elaine. Director, producer, jack-of-all-trades.” She set her binder open on the table. “We’re going to film this segment very informally. Rick—that’s him.” She pointed him out. “He’ll be moving and getting close-ups and some person-to-person interactions. Janet is on live content. We don’t want the same coverage as we’d get if Rick was streaming, so this can be more private and just-family feeling. Try not to look directly at either of them if you can.”
Crew members brought trays of cake slices to the table, and they spent some time with Elaine, arranging it to look haphazard and plentiful but not in a messy way. Carla set finished cakes on the display cases and counters and filled the case trays with brightly frosted cupcakes.
Wiley wouldn’t look at him. His parents were here and Brent was here. Filming was going to happen like this was all no big deal, like his whole world hadn’t been changed, made perfect, and then ripped from him.
As Holt watched, his wariness became disquiet, and that blossomed into anger.
“That’s about it.” Elaine checked the time. “As you taste, talk about the cake and what you like and don’t like without being too critical, and otherwise converse naturally. It’s fine if there’s some silences but chatty—overlapping chatter too—is ideal. Once we’re done here, Kit will do some solo with you all in the background, and then he and Carla will be in the kitchen for the flavors and decoration reveal. Good?”
Holt said through his teeth, “A moment.” He stopped from saying more and tugged Kit into a corner to talk. This was the angriest he’d been at Kit in years, and he didn’t want to upset anyone.
Other than Kit.
He needed a full minute before he could speak. “So we’re just going to lie to Mom and Dad and Brent?”
“Our parents watch the show and check the internet and have friends who send nosy messages. It’s not like they didn’t know you are fake-marrying Wiley,” Kit hissed.
Holt narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t mean you had to drag them into it.”
“They descended last night, intent on a reunion and some catch-up time with Wiley and the old haunts about town. What would you have me do, put them on a tour bus of local birding hotspots until the reception?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’d have you do. Something.”
“Something is being done and will be done. They’ll be taken care of, and besides, having them here doing this gives us more control than if I cut them loose to wander.”
“Here in an ambush and making Wiley squirm.” Holt’s temper flared. Wiley still hid from him, and that’s what drove his anger. “You could have warned me, at least.”
Kit drew back and his expression turned speculative. “Where is your phone?”
Holt pulled it from his pocket and glared.
“Unlock it. Please.”
Holt almost didn’t, but they were under scrutiny from quite the audience, and he didn’t want to play at this much longer.
Kit tapped away, exhaled, and held up a hand. “Don’t tell me what had you so… distracted. That’s not my business. But I tried to warn you. I even called.” He gave the phone back. “There. I took it off silent and turned your notifications back on. Now I’m going to go tell Mom the strawberry chiffon is my favorite cake flavor, because it’s definitely hers, and—Holt? For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Holt checked his phone. “Oh shit,” he breathed, and his anger dissipated into regret.
Fifteen messages, two emails, and one missed call, all from Kit.
He sent a text to Kit. No, I’m sorry.
Kit looked up from talking to Mom and waved. Forgiven that easily, because what made Kit infuriating also made him pretty amazing.
Next, Holt texted Wiley. For reference, he wrote, stared at it and thought how cold and formal and then sent it anyway, followed by forwarding all of Kit’s emails and copied messages.
He returned to his seat and watched Wiley scroll and read them, but Wiley didn’t otherwise react.
“All right, we are starting filming in five.” Elaine counted down, dropped the slate, and for a moment there was awkward silence, but then Kit asked Brent to pass the banana pudding cake and how was his trip in.
“Everything as it should be?” Clint asked quietly.
“Yeah, Kit and I sometimes butt heads on the best way to capture a segment. I didn’t realize how much we butted heads over until it was my wedding.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I suppose not.” Holt sighed. “That and you know I hate surprises.”
Clint chuckled. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Holt grumped. “Try the vanilla bean cake, Dad.”
“The vanilla bean is delicious. I experimented and paired it with a bite of candied ginger, and that was amazing.” Margery held out her hand. “Brent, pass the candied ginger again, please.” She gave it to Clint. “What’s your favorite, Wiley?”
“Coconut-cherry,” Holt answered automatically. He held up his hands. “Sorry.”
“It is coconut-cherry.”
Margery tsked sadly. “What a shame that Holt hates coconut.”
“I know. I almost left him over it.”
Brent snickered, but Margery took it in stride without showing even a small crack.
“He has the good sense to like chocolate, at least,” she said. “But then Holt always wanted cookies or pastries far more than cake.”
“Maybe we should have a wedding cookie tower,” Wiley mused. “Carla? What do you think?”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you over my delicious cake.”
Wiley shrugged. “Well, I tried.” He fiddled with his fork. “I wanted to make sure I told you thank you for the cards.”
“Cards?” The plural caught Holt’s attention.
“Oh, nothing over and above. Christmas, that sort of thing. And of course, you know I’ve been glad to.” Margery speared a hunk of almond-and-mocha cake. “Everything you bake is incredible, Carla. I think we’ll need something with seven tiers.”
Carla beamed with pride and gave Margery a different plate. “This one’s citrus drizzle.”
“Citrus drizzle? I’m doomed.” Margery nudged the cake toward Clint. “Honey, you eat some first, because I’m definitely finishing the rest. And that bite you take is crucial because it will give me room for the rest of the strawberry chiffon.”
“I appreciated them. Over and above.” Wiley fiddled with the tag on his teabag. “It meant a lot to me you reached out after Grandma died, and then holidays after.”
Margery set down her fork and turned to Wiley. “I know, dear. And thank you for your sweet little drawings in return. I’ve kept them in a book.”
“That’s so nice. And I like sending them to an appreciative audience.” Wiley’s pensiveness cleared as he smiled. “A card a year isn’t exactly pen pals,” he said to Brent. “But you know your mom.”
>
Brent nodded fondly. “I do.”
Holt watched the interplay almost agape. He supposed outside of this, he’d never have found out unless by some chance he came across something from Wiley at his parents’ house. That made him ache.
“To think, so much of that time you were dating Holt in secret. I never got the tiniest sense of it, and I’m usually pretty good at that sort of thing.” Margery laughed. “But then you were always good at quietly observing or even hiding. It’s what made you such a good foil to Kit.” She combed Wiley’s hair back. “But you’re a perfect fit for Holt.”
Wiley blushed and Holt tore his gaze away. He got up and went to the kitchen for coffee.
Horny to shocked to angry to tender to horny again—talk about whiplash.
“Everything okay?” Wiley came into the kitchen and started the coffee Holt hadn’t gotten around to making.
“Nearly. Yes.” Holt shut his eyes. “We walked into the bakery and a whole, whole lot more than I was ready for.”
“You can say that again.” Wiley puttered and although he seemed relaxed, he kept a certain distance from Holt. “Thank you for the texts and stuff. From Kit. I discovered I had emails—that I hadn’t read—when you forwarded yours.”
“Yeah. Muting my phone… maybe not the wisest move.”
“Maybe none of that was, but it’s cleared up and we can move on.” Wiley pulled the coffeepot from the maker, and a last few drips sizzled on the element.
Holt registered that and caught Wiley behind the display cases. “Move on?”
“Yeah. No reason for regrets or angst but no reason to declare what isn’t there.” Wiley shrugged casually. “We enjoyed it, won’t dwell on it, and have to deal with the fact that your family is here eating cake. That kind of move on.”
“And then?”
“Not get married, like we promised.” Wiley smiled.
Holt recognized Wiley’s on-camera smile. Seeing it—Wiley actually using it on him—twisted his heart. He wanted to argue, to point out his angst from having zero regret other than if Wiley slipped away from him, but what was there to say? If all Wiley wanted was to move on, he had to move on.
Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103) Page 17